Running with Wolves
by LilithFalling
Summary: When the Courier awakes in a world she no longer recognizes, she embarks on a journey to hunt down the man who shattered her mind. The path she chooses will lead her straight into the jaws of a wolf, who will either end her life or offer her true rebirth.
1. The Girl in the Mirror

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Fallout 4. Except this version of the Courier.

Author's Note: To any of you following my other fanfics, please do not be alarmed by the fact that I am working on three at once. I just can't work on the same story constantly, so once I get a few chapters out on one, I cycle through to the next. Don't worry, I won't be starting a hundred new ones and never finishing. In fact, I'm more or less working on IW&L at the moment, but I wanted to get this story posted while I can (while the error glitch is gone, I mean, who knows how long this window will last).

That said, I really hope anyone reading this really enjoys it. I'm going to take some liberties with the plot, but it'll be generally the same-ish story. No major huge changes except for bits of this chapter and something that happens in Nipton later down the road. Also, I actually found out how far these places are separated in real life, for accuracy purposes, but on some of them I had to guess too. Anyhoo, read on and leave a review if you like.

* * *

><p>Chapter One<p>

The Girl in the Mirror

Darkness. Pain. With every passing moment they were the only constant. The only two things that distinguished life and death. She knew with a certainty that she was alive, and so she searched for the light.

Time did not exist in this world. She did not know how she had come to be trapped here, or just how long she had been lost in it. As she searched for a way out, she was only aware of how much faster her energy drained away with her efforts and oblivion would pull at her once more. It didn't matter. When she was strong again she would take up the search anew. There was no other thought. No other reason for existing.

Then, finally, the darkness started to break apart, and light began filtering through. She rushed toward it, and as the light grew brighter, the pain sharply intensified and overcame her senses. She heard a hoarse voice cry out in anguish, and then, to her surprise, another voice answered.

"Whoa, easy there," it said in low, calming tones. "Don't push yourself. Easy does it."

She listened to the voice and followed its advice, patiently waiting as, little by little, the darkness continued to melt away and brightness surrounded her. At first it was almost too painful to look at, but just as she would have tried to block it out, it began to dim, then it flickered... bright to dim to bright... on and on, never ceasing, never changing... The darkness moved in a circular pattern before her. One-two-three-one-two-three. Around and around. It was hypnotic, but her concentration was interrupted by the voice that had spoken to her what seemed like hours ago.

"Well, now, you're awake," it said. "How 'bout that?"

The voice was very close by and distinguishably male. His tone was gentle and held an air of pleasant surprise. Though her head still ached unbearably, her eyes were drawn toward the sound. As soon as she moved her head, the room split in two and began to spin sickeningly around her; even closing her eyes didn't make it stop.

"Shh, shh," he said quietly. "I said go easy. There's no rush. You've been out cold a few days now. Just relax. Get your bearings."

She took his advice and waited for the world to right itself again before opening her eyes. The room remained blurry, but she waited patiently as the colors and blurs became shapes, and the form beside her became an elderly man watching her with a kindly astonishment. His thin, smiling lips were topped with a full, gray mustache that looked as though it had been trimmed with a straightedge, and what was left of his white hair was neatly groomed around his huge, shiny bald pate. Despite his immaculate appearance, he wore plain, roughly-hewn clothing in dull, nondescript colors. As she quietly observed him it dawned on her that she was viewing him at an angle; she was lying down. Her first, foolish reaction was to try to sit up. Even as her head lifted from the bed an overwhelming weakness surged through her, and she soon fell back with a groan of pain.

"Easy," the man repeated. "You're safe here."

She struggled to open her eyes yet again, but did not attempt to move.

"Well, let's see what the damage is," he went on quietly. "Can you tell me your name?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but was brought up short. Her name... what was her name? She thought she'd known it just a moment ago.

"I –" Her first word came out with difficulty; her throat and mouth felt parched. She experimentally cleared her throat. "I don't know."

The man frowned. "No?" he said. "What about your mother's? Father's? Do you know where you're from?"

Again, she tried to think about it, and again, there was only a vague emptiness.

The man's frown was even deeper now. "I was afraid of this, even if you did make it through –"

"Make it through what?" she asked suddenly. "What happened? Where am I?"

"You're in the town of Goodsprings," he said. When the name sparked no recognition in her, he elaborated. "We're about thirty miles due south of New Vegas." She shook her head, not recognizing that name either, so he moved on to her other question. "You were found half-buried in a shallow grave with two fragmented bullets lodged in your skull. You barely had a pulse, but you were breathing on your own, so Victor dug you on up and brought you to me."

"Who are you? Who is Victor?"

"I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Doc Mitchell," the man said. "And Victor's what you could call the town robot."

She nodded slowly and fell silent, her mind slowly sparking back to life. She had been _shot_? In the _head_? _Twice_? She swallowed hard, trying to think of another question to ask, but all she could settle on was, "May I have some water?"

With gnarled hands the Doc helped ease her into a sitting position, and immediately she felt a dull ache in her side. Once she was reclining as comfortably as possible against the wall behind her, he left her to catch her bearings again while he left the room. Barely a full minute passed before he returned, bearing a tall glass of water. He helped her hold it steady until she could drink from it on her own.

"I want you to drink as much as you can," he said, resuming his seat. "But don't go chugging it down, it's been days since you've put anything in your stomach."

The girl nodded and drank tentatively from the glass, her gaze drifting around the room as she did.

Doc Mitchell continued to watch her thoughtfully, stroking his mustache for several moments before he spoke. "Well, now that you're awake, I imagine you'll be needing a name. Perhaps... perhaps Eve would be appropriate, at least until you recover your own?"

The girl nodded hesitantly, still drinking continuously from the water.

Doc Mitchell smoothed his mustache a few more times and said, "Now, I hope you don't mind, but I had to go rootin' around in your noggin to pull all the bits of lead out. While I take pride in my needle work, perhaps you ought to have a look and make sure nothing's outta place."

Eve nodded again, suddenly ill as her mind filled with gruesome images of a mangled face; nevertheless she accepted the small, circular mirror from the Doc with trembling fingers. Steeling herself, she glanced at her reflection, and was immediately shocked by what was shown to her.

The image before her was neither mangled nor misshapen, though two long, jagged diagonal wounds marred the left side of her forehead; they were stitched closed and nearly healed. All the same, there was nothing about the reflection that sparked any recognition in her. The girl in the mirror was young... too young to have been shot in the head. She was not a child exactly, but neither could she be called a woman. The girl's eyes were wide in her face, tilted up at the corners and a deep, inky black, with dark shadows under them that made her skin look pale and waxy. Her face was small with delicate angles around her chin and cheekbones, and a childlike softness lingered about her cheeks; her lips were slightly unbalanced by a full lower-lip. The face was framed by a messy halo of white-blonde hair that hung down her back in lank, dirty clumps.

"The bullets were fired at point-blank range, entering one inch apart on the left side of your frontal lobe, but they shattered on impact and the shrapnel didn't penetrate as deep as I would have expected. I got as much out as I could find. There was also blunt force trauma to the back of your head, and you have three bruised ribs. You'll need to be careful of those for a few more days. You also have some bruising and lacerations around your wrists and ankles, but they're mostly healed by now."

Eve nodded, staring mutely at her reflection for another minute before putting the mirror aside. Then the next obvious question came to her.

"Who did this?"

"Can't say I know. You'll want to ask around town once you're on your feet again. It happened just up the hill. Maybe someone saw something."

At the thought of trying to stand, Eve immediately swayed on the spot, the room spinning dizzily again.

"You should lay back, get some more sleep," Mitchell said, taking the empty water glass and gently easing her back down onto the mattress. "You've been through the mill and you're not going to be at one-hundred percent the minute you regain consciousness. We'll see how you're doing in the morning."

Eve murmured in assent, consciousness fading from her before her head touched the pillow.

* * *

><p>When Eve awoke next it felt like coming out of a long tunnel, and once she reached the other side she found herself completely alone. For several minutes she lay still, taking her surrounding in as best she could from her bed. She felt pleasantly warm, and the air around her had a dry, sweet scent to it. At her head and to her right was solid wall, and at her feet was a screen that blocked off the lower corner of the room. To her left was an examination table and a few feet off the foot of that was an operation table.<p>

As she stared at the surgically pristine object with a sense of dread, the elderly man she remembered from her the tunnel entered the room. She watched him uncertainly as he walked in carrying an armload of rags and smiling at her genially.

"Good, you're awake again," he said. "It's been a couple of days, but you're looking better for it."

Eve gingerly sat up, on her own this time, wincing as both her ribs and her head ached. She clutched the thin blanket to her chest, and for the first time she became aware that she wore nothing beneath it. She looked down at her bare shoulders then up at the doctor in alarm.

"Ah... yes," Mitchell said, looking somewhat abashed. "Standard procedure to check for other injuries. It'd do no one any good if you survived the bullets but succumb to infection from some other wound."

"So it was all true," Eve said quietly. "I had wondered, you know, if I was just dreaming... and I still don't – don't –"

"Never mind," Mitchell said bracingly, "your mind will heal like your body. Just give it time."

Eve took a deep breath and nodded, then swung her feet down from the bed, planting them firmly on the floor and testing her weight on them experimentally.

"Hold on a moment, let me take a look at you before you go gettin' ahead of yourself."

Eve waited patiently as the Doc stuck a thermometer under her tongue and shined a light in both her eyes. Finally, he declared her fit enough with "all things considered" and helped her to her feet, holding her by one elbow until she was standing steady enough on her own. When Mitchell saw her adjusting the blanket wrapped snugly around under her arms, he sprang into action, hobling across the room with a noticeable limp.

"These are the clothes you were wearing when you were brought in," he said. "I washed them, but there's some blood stains that'll never come out."

He picked up the bundle of rags he'd been carrying and shook them out. There were a worn pair of blue jeans, a short, faded blue-denim jacket, a white cotton shirt with long sleeves, brown leather gloves, and a pair of woolen socks. On the collar of the denim jacket were several rust-colored stains.

"And your boots and belt," Mitchell continued, gesturing at a pair of rugged leather boots that stood side-by-side on the floor not far from the examination table. On the wooden work table beside them was her belt. "They're still in fine condition."

Eve glanced at them and immediately walked the few feet across the room to pick them up. Her first steps were slow and unsteady and she could feel the Doc watching her progress with a trained eye, but she made it without falling and carefully bent down to pick up the boots that had apparently passed through the grave with her. They were dusty and well worn, made of brown leather with a tasseled fringe around the top and a small heel. Then she picked up her belt; it was black and leather, and looped to it was a plain holster carrying a weathered pistol.

"Very good," Mitchell said encouragingly, clearly stunned and pleased with her progress. "Just remember, go slow. This ain't a race. I expect you might appreciate a bath? And some food maybe?"

At the mention of food her stomach gave a loud, long snarl that seemed to rumble through the entire room. The Doc smiled again and gestured for her to follow.

Doc Mitchell lead her down to the end of the hall, and she followed slowly, clutching her boots, belt, and gun to her chest. He opened a door that revealed a small, clean bathroom.

"It's not much," Mitchell said. "But the taps on the sink and bathtub both work, and the toilet even flushes s'long as the tank's full."

Eve nodded. "I'll manage."

The Doc nodded and placed her bundle of clothes in the sink against the wall opposite the door. "There's soap and a clean rag in the box beside the tub, and a clean cloth to dry yourself with on the back of the door.. Just holler if you need anything." His patient only nodded again and Mitchell shut the door behind him as he left.

Eve stood silently still for a moment, taking in every detail of the tiny little room. The tub was against the left wall, the sink across from the door, and the toilet to the right with a plunger and a clean bucket right beside it. Everything was pristine white and clean, with perhaps a little wear from age. The worst was the bathtub, where the porcelain was stained and worn in some places, and a broken mirror that hung on the wall behind the door; one large shard of glass remained intact enough for her to see herself clearly. The girl in the mirror looked pale and a little frightened, though the shadows under her eyes, the dirt smeared on her skin and hair, and the healing gashes in her forehead did nothing to lessen the effect. She certainly looked as though she'd been through the grave and back.

With another glance at the door she dropped the blanket she was wearing on the green, threadbare rug partially covering the wood floor and, after plugging the drain with a rubber stopper, began to fiddle with the tap over the bathtub. Immediately water began to pour from the spout and fill the tub. While she waited, she carefully examined her own body. She was small, that much was obvious. Her head had barely reached the Doc's shoulder as she'd followed him back here. Her shoulders and hips were narrow, and her breasts were two gently sloping curves that just barely obscured her view of her flat stomach. Beneath her left breast was a large, greenish-yellow bruise that covered the surface of her ribs and part of her stomach. Desperately, she tried to recall how it had happened... tried to remember her name again, her age, where she'd been born, anything, but again, there was nothing.

Sighing in frustration, she gingerly climbed into the tub. The water wasn't hot, but it was comfortable enough and it felt like heaven against her dirty, sweaty skin.

It took a half-hour's concentration to bathe herself, but when she was finished she found she could breathe easier, and even the pain in her head had lessened to a dull ache. She drained the tub of the muddy, filthy water and filled it again to properly rinse herself off, then rested for a moment. As she soaked in silence her eyes were drawn to the yellowing bruises around her wrists. What could this have been from? A glance at her ankles showed the exact same bruises. She had obviously been struck twice, in the ribs and on the back of the head, but how would she sustain these injuries?

She climbed out of the dirty water and used the cloth hanging on a hook on the back of the door to dry herself, then gratefully pulled on her clothes, looking at them closely as she put them on. As she shook the jeans open a delicate set of undergarments flew out of them and hit the wall before falling on the floor. Eve picked them up and looked curiously at the scraps of fabric. Both were made from pale-blue cloth and were obviously well-mended and cared for. She slipped them on, then followed with the shirt, then the jeans, which tightly molded to her body but were well-worn and easy to move in; she looped the belt and the holster onto the jeans, placing her gun automatically on her right-hand side. She paused before putting on the jacket, running the tips of her fingers over the blood stains on the collar; it was only a few splatters barely as large as the tips of her fingers, but they sent a chill up her spine, reminding her how close she'd come to death; inside the jacket, in the place that would be just over her heart was a small, hidden pocket, but it was empty. She pulled the jacket on; the hem ended above her waist and the sleeves were rolled up to her elbows, and she looked in the mirror to carefully smooth the collar. She looked a lot less terrifying now, if still a little pale. When finally she had her socks and her boots on, she tucked the gloves into her back pocket and left the small bathroom.

Once out in the hall she became aware of noises coming from the open archway directly opposite the bathroom. Cautiously, she poked her head through to investigate and immediately saw the doctor milling about a small kitchen. In the center of the room was a wood table surrounded by four chairs, and on it was a white plate bearing bits of meat and a strange green, bulb-like fruit. The meal was completed by a glass of water. Her stomach gave another long snarl.

"You're looking much better," Doc Mitchell observed when he saw her standing in the doorway. "Come in, eat. You must be starving."

Eve sat down on the chair and pulled the plate of food closer, but did not immediately begin to eat.

"That food hasn't been poisoned, you know," Mitchell said with a smile, joining her at the table. He watched her take a first tentative bite, then she relaxed and began eating normally, if a bit voraciously.

"Take it easy," he reminded her again. "You'll make yourself sick. And be sure to drink that water. Dehydration sets in easy in the Mojave."

Eve slowed down and watched the old doctor from across the table. After a few moments he reached out of his back pocket and drew out a piece of paper. "You had this note in your pocket when you were brought here. Now, I hope you don't mind, but read it. I was hoping it would help me find a next-of-kin, but it's just something about a delivery for a platinum chip."

Eve stared at the note he slid across the table, then picket it up and unfolded it, reading it's contents.

_INSTRUCTIONS_

_Deliver the package at the north entrance to the Vegas Strip_,_ by way of Freeside_._ An agent of the recipient will meet you at the checkpoint_,_ take possession of the package_,_ and collect payment for the delivery_._ Bring the payment to Johnson Nash at the Mojave Express agency in Primm_.

_Bonsus on completion_:_ 250 caps_.

_MANIFEST_

_This package contains_:

_One _(_1_)_ Oversized Poker Chip_,_ composed of Platinum_

_CONTRACT PENALTIES_

_You are an authorized agent of the Mojave Express Package until delivery is complete and payment has been processed_,_ contractually obligated to complete this transaction and materially responsible for any malfeasance or loss_._ Failure to deliver the proper recipient may result in forfeiture of your advance and bonus, criminal charges, and_/_or pursuit by mercenary reclamation teams_._ The Mojave Express is not responsible for any injury or loss of life you experience as a result of said reclamation efforts_.

Eve read it over and over several times, trying to let each word sink into her mind, trying to rekindle some lost memory, but when that didn't work, she finally looked up at the kindly doctor.

"I'm a delivery girl?" she asked, frowning.

"Most call it 'courier'," the doctor said, fighting back the urge to grin. "Like a drifter, but someone who delivers things like mail and packages to make a living in the process."

"I see," she said thoughtfully. "Sounds like a dangerous way to make a living."

"Intruiging that you should know that," the doctor said.

Eve looked up at him with wide eyes. "You're right, it is," she said quietly. She knew the world was dangerous. That was a start. She read over the contract again.

"'Mojave Express Agency'," she read. "Where is Primm?"

"It's a town about 15 miles down the road heading south," Mitchell said.

"If I go there, maybe I'll find someone who knows who I am," Eve said, staring at the words.

"Well, now, hold on a minute," the Doc said repressively. "You just said yourself its dangerous work, traveling from place to place. If you're gonna go out there, I'd suggest you take the time to prepare. There's a girl in town, a little older than you; name's Sunny Smiles. Tell her I sent ya, and I'm sure she'll help you learn how to survive in the Mojave."

"What is the Mojave?" she asked.

"It's a vast desert that stretches for hundreds of miles," the Doc explained. "And it _is_ a dangerous place. Just go taking off and you'll end up right back in my office, if you're lucky."

Eve nodded. "All right, I'll head out to find her. Then I'll head to Primm. It's a sure bet that someone at the Mojave Express will recognize me." She glanced back at the letter again. "Where is this platinum chip?"

"It wasn't on your person when you got here," he said. "It could have fallen out of your pocket when Victor pulled you out of your – out of the ground."

Eve inwardly winced, knowing he'd almost said _out of your grave_. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see the place she had been buried, but it looked like she was responsible for this chip, wherever it was, and she didn't have much of a choice but to find it. She tried to remember it, but instead there was only an empty void to greet her, and something about it left her feeling sick to her stomach.

"I need to find out how this happened. And why."

"I'm sure you'll find some answers from the folks around here. You were buried just outside of town. It's likely that whoever did it stayed here."

Eve nodded and got to her feet. "All right. I'm going to go ask around."

"Hold on," the Doc said, "I've got a box of your belongings in my office."

They walked back down the hall, and just inside the infirmary the doctor opened a metal box on one of the storage shelves, and inside it was a courier satchel that appeared to be made of nothing but pockets, and constructed from from what looked like animal hide. Eve pulled it out of the box and rummaged around inside. It appeared custom made, designed to hold each item she'd need in a specific place. One both sides of the pouch were several slender pouches; two of them were empty, but the bottom four held a extra clip each for her pistol. Eve reached for the gun in her holster, and her fingers curled instinctively around the body, her thumb coming to rest expectantly on the hammer. She pulled it from the holster and released the clip. It was full, so she pushed it back in and pulled back on the slide, displaying one round in the chamber. With a vague feeling of satisfaction, she moved the slide foreward and enabled the safety before replacing it in it's holster.

"Good to see you still know your way around a weapon," Mitchell said. "At least you know it's all still in there somewhere."

Eve smiled but didn't comment as she continued to rummage through the satchel. She found a handful of bobby pins in one pocket, and a few Stimpacks in another, which the Doc explained would heal most injuries, and could regenerate tissue, bone, and blood when necessary.

"Doesn't help much if you lose any entire limb, though," he cautioned. "And be cautious, they don't remove bits of lead either."

She also found a pack of cigarettes, a box of matches, and a small plastic comb. She flipped open the pack and saw it was half-empty. She instinctivrlu removed this and added it to the small pocket inside her jacket along with the matches, then quickly pulled the comb through her hair and slid that in next to the cigarettes. Next was a burlap drawstring pouch large enough to fill the interior of the satchel; several bottle caps jingled merrily around inside it. Eve looked at them, remebering a portion of the contract.

"Caps," she said. "Like the contract said." Then she counted them. Eighteen. "I don't have much to pay you with."

"Oh, don't worry none about that," Mitchell said, brushing away her concerns with a wave of his hand. "I'm a doctor. It's what I'm here for."

"Thank you," Eve said, dumping the caps back into the pouch before pulling the strings to closed and stashing it back in the satchel. "You saved my life. Ruling out another bullet to the head, I won't forget it. I'll pay you as soon as I have some money."

The doctor smilled sadly and closed the empty box before opening the first aid kit on the shelf above it. "Take these with you, too. More Stimpacks and some Med-X. The Med-X will help if any pain flares up, and can save your hide if you get injured while fighting for your life. The drawback is they make you a little intoxicated and blur your judgement if you take too much, and can make you drowsy or knock you unconscious if you take more. They can also become addictive. Use them carefully."

"Got it, Doc," Eve said, adding the Med-X syringes into her satchel.

"And one more thing," he said. He reached onto the top shelf and took down another metal box, set it on a lower shelf and opened it. "Since you're headed back out there, I wanted to give you this. It used to be mine when I was younger, and it might help keep you alive. I always found it useful, at any rate."

He produced a small, sleek wrist mounted computer he called a "Pip-Boy". It had a few dials and buttons with a screen that would sit on top of her wrist, and it was linked to a glove for her left hand that had a short, thin needle protruding inward from the palm.

"This is not easy to take off once you put it on, but I will show you how," he said. "This needle enters into a tiny vein and reads your blood. It also has a cable for linking to a computer from here should you need to do so. It comes with a computer hacking program, and monitors your vitals. You can records logs and records, read holodisks, and generally manage your affairs."

"Sounds useful," Eve relpied. "Go ahead, put it on."

"I'll need you to roll up the sleeve of your shirt."

Eve did so, rolling the cotton neatly up to her elbow, and held out her arm. The Pip-Boy slipped on painlessly; she didn't even feel the tiny needle. After loading for a minute or two, a screen flickered on, showing a miniature model of herself, detailed down to every nerve and capillary. All her healing injuries were perfectly noted and highlighted, and it kept track of her vitals just as the Doc had said. She quickly flipped through the rest of the screens and then pulled on her own leather gloves, perfectly ready to get out to her search.

"If you get hurt again, come back and I'll fix you up," Mitchell said as he lead her to the door. "But try not to get shot."

"I'll do my best," she said dryly.

He put his hand on the doorhandle, then stopped. "By the way, you'll probably want to try talking to Trudy first. She runs the Prospector Saloon down the road headed east. It's not far. She knows everybody and will have noticed and newcomers in town."

Eve nodded. "Thanks again. I'll see you around."

"Take care," Mitchell said, and he opened the front door, filling the entryway with blinding sunshine.


	2. Lessons in Survival

Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Fallout.

Author's Note: Wow, I can't believe it's been a year since I wrote the first chapter for this, and I haven't touched it since. I mean, just wow. Longest pause between updates ever (for me, at least). Anyways, I decided to post another chapter. Though this story definitely isn't my main focus, I do have a whole plotline set up for it, and I think it'll be greatly enjoyable. I hope whoever reads it enjoys it, and leave a review if you like.

Warning: I know, it's only chapter two, and there is some adult content coming ahead. Mind you, this story will have many sexual themes. I mean, this is the wasteland, and I am a realist. Now, this chapter, toward the end, is going to get pretty dark. If you're not comfortable with that, you should really reconsider reading this. There are some really harsh lessons ahead for the Courier, and the biggest one is what it takes to survive.

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

Lessons in Survival

It wasn't difficult to find the saloon. It didn't look like much, but then, that could be said for the entire town. The walk here from the Doc's house hadn't lasted a full two minutes, and the two places were on opposite sides of town. Eve had only passed one other living soul, and that had been a farmer toiling away in a patch of dirt outside his house; he'd been much too busy to notice her passing, so she had left him to his work and pressed onward.

The saloon was easily the largest building in town. Only the building next to it could compare. Out front beside the cracked road was a heavy wooden sign declaring it the "Prospector Saloon", and as the whistling wind picked up, it swung back and forth, creaking on its ancient chains. Eve stared at the building hard, trying to remember if she had been here before, but as always, there was only the empty void to answer her. This place, if she had ever known it, was as foreign to her as her own reflection.

"Are you planning on staring at it all day, or are you gonna go on in?"

Eve spun around so fast the world split in two again and turned upside down. A pair of strong hands reached out to stop her from falling on her face, and Eve squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her hands to both sides of her head, as though trying to hold the two halves together.

"Sorry, miss," the gruff voice said. "Are you all right? D'you want me to help you on up to the Doc's house?"

"No... no, I'm fine," Eve said through gritted teeth. "Just give me a minute."

After several moments Eve was able to open her eyes again, wincing as the bright sunshine stabbed at her sensitive pupils.

Standing in front of her was a man who was probably older than the Doc by her reckoning. His skin was dark and looked as though he had spent a lot of time out in the baking sun, and he had a full, white, scraggly beard that hid half of his face and hung down to the collar of his shirt. His dark eyes were shaded by the wide brim of his straw hat and his clothing suggested that he was another farmer. Again, there was no recognition, no sense of familiarity.

"Have we met?" she asked.

"Can't say we have, miss," the man said, releasing her arms now that she appeared steady on her feet. "They call me Easy Pete."

"I'm –" She started to introduce herself, but cut herself off. It felt strange to be giving out a name she wasn't certain she owned. "I'm new in town."

"Yeah, you're the one the Doc was patching up," Easy Pete said knowledgeably.

"You could say that," Eve replied grimly. "You wouldn't have happened to see who put me in there, would you?"

"I think I just might have," Pete said thoughtfully. "A few days before you were found half-dead in the dirt, three strangers rolled into town. There were two rough-looking types, and a fella in a daisy-suit that seemed to be calling the shots. Trudy put 'em up for a few nights, and same night you were found, they had vanished."

"Do you know who they were?" Eve asked, feeling like she already knew the answer.

"Can't say I do," the old man said regretfully. "But a word of advice if you ever catch up with 'em, be careful. The man's got eyes like a snake. Don't let your guard down around him."

Eve nodded and murmured a thank-you, and the old man continued on his way to the saloon. She remained where she was, glancing up and down the main road, which was deserted but for a few hulking, rusted trucks and clouds of dust that swirled into little funnels in the dry, hot breeze.

Three men. Three armed and dangerous men had likely attacked her and left her for dead. By the sound of it, they had arrived in town ahead of her, and she had never made it. What could have incited these men to lay in wait to ambush her outside of this tiny town in the middle of the desert? She reached into her pocket and took out the delivery order, unfolded the paper, and read over the words once more.

Could the Platinum Chip have anything to do with this? It seemed to be the only available explanation; it was the only thing she knew of that seemed to be missing, and it appeared she had tried to defend it with her life. They hadn't taken her gun or even her money, not that she had much. But what was so special about this chip that it was worth killing for? Why go through all the trouble of coming out here to ambush her?

Her mind spun with questions as she refolded the delivery order and stuffed it back into her pocket.

"Well, howdy, pardner. Might I say you're looking fit as a fiddle."

For the second time Eve found herself spinning around, but more slowly this time. The source of the greeting appeared to be a gigantic block of a robot, taller than any man, and roughly twice as wide. Its bulk was supported by a single wheel on a thin metal leg, and two metal arms protruded from its sides. Most strangely of all was the screen on the front of its body, which depicted a flickering image of a cartoon cowboy smiling cheekily at her.

"Who are you?" she blurted.

"Name's Victor, young miss," the robotic voice said with a charming drawl.

For one heart-stopping moment, Eve felt a spark of recognition at the name, but then she remembered why. "Doc Mitchell mentioned you," she said. "He told me you're the one who pulled me out of the ground."

"The very same, pardner," Victor replied.

"Were you there? Did you see what happened?" she asked.

"Saw a piece of it. It was after dark, and I was rollin' round town when I heard some commotion over at the old bone orchard –"

"Bone orchard?" Eve said, visibly confused.

"Up over yonder, past the saloon," Victor said, turning about to face the low hill that rose up over the town. "Could go and take a gander, if you like. Might be something left there."

Eve hesitated for a moment, wondering if she really wanted to see her own grave, then realized the necessity of it. She might remember it, or her attackers could have left something behind, something that would help her identify them. She nodded and started for the small hill, the robot rolling along beside her.

"What was the commotion?" she asked, urging the robot to continue his story.

"When I got there I saw what looked like a couple of bad eggs, so I laid low," Victor went on, sounding pleased to be able to tell the tale.

"What did you see?"

"Well, there were two rough-looking buckaroos digging a hole in the ground and some fella in a checkered suit standin' over where you was laying tied up in the dirt," Victor said. "When you came 'round, that's when the fella put you down and buried you. After they was gone, I dug you up to see if you was still kickin'. Turns out you were, so I picked you up and carried you on over to the Doc's house."

Eve didn't say anything after Victor concluded his story; a horrible image consumed her as she walked silently beside the robot. The image of herself kneeling at the feet of a faceless man, her wrists and ankles bound tightly together, helpless as he drew a weapon and ruthlessly put an end to her life. By some miracle she had survived, but only technically; her old life, even her name, was lost to her. What kind of man so blithely murdered a girl kneeling helplessly at his feet? She felt is safe to assume that he had already taken the Platinum Chip, the only thing she apparently had of any value, so why had he felt compelled to take her life, too? He had what he wanted. Had it been a personal vendetta? Or had he merely wanted to make a clean job of it?

"Here we are," announced the robot.

Eve looked up and blinked. They had arrived at a cemetery. Of course. It was the perfect place to hide a body. Scattered around the hilltop were several graves; some looked to be fresher than others, some were marked with wooden crosses and some had offerings of fruit or flowery plants scattered over them. Eve walked among these, and the realization came to her that if Victor had not heard what was going on up here, no one ever would have found her... no one ever would have known.

It didn't take long to locate the shallow grave where her life had ended. It was barely knee-deep and just long enough for her to lie down in if she had a mind to. She stepped down into the earth and knelt down, her fingers caressing the dry dirt as she looked around, willing a memory to come to her, any memory. But no flashed of recollections came to her, and instead she studied the ground around the grave.

There were no footprints but for her own fresh ones, but this was no surprise. By her reckoning almost a week had passed since the attack and the wind had had ample time to smooth them all away. There were, however, several cigarette butts lying in a pile mere inches from the grave. She picked one up and gave it a closer look. The design on the paper encasing the filter was pristine white with glossy silver painted on in fancy whirls and spirals. Frowning, she took the pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of her jacket and took on out, comparing the designs of the two. Her own was a simple brown paper flecked with yellow-and-orange patches, nothing like these.

On impulse, she gathered all the cigarette butts she could find in the dirt and added them to her pack. Several of them were only half-smoked, and that told her something else: whoever had smoked these could afford to be wasteful, even of something rare and valuable.

When she was finished, she glanced around the gravesight against, but was not surprised when she did not find the Platinum chip. She turned to Victor, who seemed to be watching her intently.

"Did you happen to overhear anything they said?" she asked as she stood up straight and stepped out of the hole. "A name, or maybe where they were headed?"

"Can't say I did, little lady," Victor replied. "I did see the fellers going in and out of the saloon in town. Might want to asked around there."

Eve nodded. "I'll do that. Thanks for bringing me here, and for... you know, saving my life. I'll see you back in town."

"I'm always happy to help a friend in need," Victor said, making a bow toward her. "And be careful not to wander too far. There's some nasty critters in the valley below here. See you later."

Eve watched the robot roll away in silence, then looked around the hilltop once more, then at the horizon in the distance. Her eyes were inevitably drawn to the enormous tower standing out against the desert far off in the distance, and as she looked at it, the reality of her situation slowly began to sink in. Somewhere out in that endless desert was the man who had ended her life. A wealthy, ruthless, stone-cold killer who had put a bullet in her head while she was bound and helpless. A coward who had lain in wait to ambush her outside of this tiny town in the dead of night.

Eve turned around and headed back down the hill without looking back, her spine suddenly straighter, her head taller. The last time she had been in that graveyard she had lost something, something more important than a chip, no matter what kind of fancy metal it might be made of, and she had been carried away with barely any life left in her. This time, she walked away with determination in her step and a burning desire for revenge in her heart. She would find her attacker, hunt down this man whose face she could not remember. When death came or him, he would be as helpless and vulnerable as she had been, and then, only then, would she feel whole once more.

* * *

><p>"Cheyenne, stay!"<p>

Eve took a reflexive step back from the barking dog, who immediately came to heel at its master's command.

"Don't worry, she won't bite unless I tell her to," the red-haired woman said with a friendly smile. "You must be new in town. I'm Sunny Smiles."

Eve nodded vaguely and glanced around the saloon. There were two large rooms, one with a billiard table and the other with a bar and several booths, and the whole setting was cast over with dim, dusty lights. She couldn't see anyone else, so she returned her gaze to 'Sunny Smiles'. She was at least in her early twenties and several inches taller than Eve, with rich auburn hair and bronze skin that suggested she spent a lot of time outdoors; her smile was easy and genuine, but Eve did not discount the frankly assessing look in her eyes or the sturdy-looking rifle slung across her back. "Nice to meet you. I'm looking for Trudy. Doc Mitchell said she might have some information for me."

"Oh, you must be the one I've been hearing about around town," Sunny said, giving her a more thorough look. "Younger than I thought you'd be."

"Tell me about it," Eve muttered without thinking.

Sunny smiled again. "Trudy isn't here at the moment, but she will be in a few hours. Can I get you a drink?"

Eve shook her head. "I haven't the caps."

"This one's on the house," she said, leading the way around to the bar and stepping behind the counter. "It's the least you deserve after what you've been through."

Eve sat down at one of the stools and Sunny passed her a shot-glass and a bottle of some amber-colored liquid.

"Whiskey good for you?" she asked. Eve shrugged and Sunny produced another shot-glass. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," Eve said, nodding at the stool beside her. Sunny came back around from behind the counter and took the seat. She poured them each a healthy measure from the whiskey bottle.

"To second chances," Sunny said brightly.

"Second chances," Eve seconded, and they both downed their shot.

"Ahh... good stuff," Sunny said, smacking her lips and pouring another shot for each of them.

That was a matter of opinion as far as Eve was concerned, but the slow burn of the whiskey seemed to soothe the pain in her head as well as fuel the flame of vengeance in her heart, so she willing took the next three shots with an attempted smile.

"So, what's your plan?" Sunny asked, leaning against the bar. "Now that you're back on your feet?"

"I'm going after the bastard who knocked me off of them, of course," Eve said with a humorless smile. "As soon as I get a lead on which way they're headed."

"So you'll be going out into the Mojave," Sunny surmised. "Know much about surviving in the desert?"

Eve thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't. I... I don't really remember much of anything. At all."

Sunny was staring at her with a mixture of surprise and suspicion, but after a few moments her expression cleared and she smiled again. "Then I can help you out in that area. I can teach you a few things about surviving out there. Shouldn't take too long. What d'you say?"

Eve glanced around the deserted saloon and decided it was better than waiting around here.

"All right," she said, "who knows, might keep me from getting shot again, right?"

"Well, I can't make any promises," Sunny said with a grin. "Do you have a gun?"

"A pistol," she said, patting the holster on her thigh.

Sunny shook her head. "You'll be needing something better than that. Meet me behind the saloon in about ten minutes."

Eve nodded and watched Sunny get to her feet and leave the saloon, Cheyenne trotting along beside her. Her step was surprisingly steady considering three-quarters of the whiskey bottle was empty.

As soon as Sunny was gone, Eve bowed her head and let her forehead rest against the bar, closing her eyes against the ache that persisted between her brow. The darkness provided instant relief and for a few minutes she stayed that way, content to listen to the silence around her. Briefly, she considered taking the Med-X the Doc had given her, but after a few minutes the pain had completely ebbed away and she was walking out of the saloon to meet Sunny.

* * *

><p>Hours later, the two women sat around a low fire half a mile outside of town as the sky blazed a brilliant orange overhead. After gifting Eve with a beat up but still functional rifle and showing her how to properly use it, Sunny had invited her on a hunting trip to clear the water sources of geckos. Eve had accepted, eager to hone her budding marksman skills, but nothing could have prepared her for the two-foot tall scaly demons that ran at her on two legs, their mouths open wide with inch-long razor sharp teeth on full display.<p>

"What were you expecting?" Sunny asked as the two watched the desert sun sink over the horizon.

"I don't know," Eve admitted dully, throwing a handful of twigs into the flames. Killing the geckos had been the least of her worries. Sunny had then insisted that she learn how to skin them, and then how to start a fire using only two sticks of wood and some dry brush. She was bloody, sweaty, sore, and tired, and her only comfort now was the succulent smell of roasting gecko meat that they'd skewered and propped over the flames.

"Well, I wouldn't be too worried. You shoot like a natural," Sunny said.

"You think so?" Eve asked. "I thought it felt natural, but I wouldn't know if I was doing it right or not."

"If you hit your target, you're doing it right. Not too much," Sunny added lazily, halting her from throwing more twigs into the crackling flames. "Fire can keep you alive out here, but it can also draw the attention of others in the area. And don't forget, you always got to keep a lookout. The smell of food cooking is likely to draw out more than just human predators."

"Then why take the risk?" Eve asked.

"The biggest critter in these parts are currently turning on that spit, so I reckon we're safe," Sunny said. "All the same, better safe than sorry."

They sat across from each other to watch each other's backs, and when the meat was finally cooked, Sunny snapped the skewer in half and handed one to Eve.

"Eat up," she said cheerfully. "This stuff doesn't keep well in the Mojave."

They ate in companionable silence, occasionally tossing bits of meat to Cheyenne and scanning the landscape around them. Eve tried to remain alert, but over and over she found herself lost in her own thoughts. Another day had passed, and her attackers had managed to get further and further away while she was still here. But from all of Sunny's lessons, she had at the very least learned that it was foolish to go rushing off into the desert unprepared. Not ten feet away from where she now sat lay the body of a young girl who's name she didn't even remember. Eve couldn't help but stare at her every now and again. Her short blonde hair shined in the sunlight and swayed in the light breeze, and she looked peaceful, as though she were sleeping. But the deep gashes on her face, arms and legs, along with the dried blood caked into the dirt and smeared over her skin and clothes told a different tale. Sunny had said she was from Goodsprings, and that she'd warned people not to come out here on their own. Soon they would be carrying her body back into town, where her family, if she had any, would bury her in the same graveyard where Eve herself had been murdered and reborn.

A low growl from Cheyenne reverberated through Eve's train of thought.

"Head's up," Sunny said, grabbing her rifle. "Company."

When Eve glanced in the direction Sunny was looking , she saw a tall, scrawny man approaching their little camp with his hands raised, as though in surrender. What was left of the sun illuminated him; they could clearly see that his skin was smeared with dirt, and a wild mess of short brown hair covered the top of his head. He was dressed in tattered rags and appeared to be carrying no weapon of any kind.

"Please, don't shoot," he called out, stopping several yards away from them when Sunny raised her rifle.

"What do you want?" Sunny called back, her rifle still trained on him.

"My name is Barton Thorn," he said. "I live in a shack, just over yonder. I saw your fire and thought you might be able to help me."

"If you're here to beg for food, we don't have any, so just keep on moving,"

"It's my girl," Barton said. "She's trapped over on that ridge by geckos. Please help. I can't get to her and she's going to die!"

Eve glanced at the ridge he'd gestured to, but from their vantage point, she could see nothing.

"Don't even think about it, Eve," Sunny warned sharply, her natural cheery disposition almost nonexistent. "He's probably leading us on with some wild tale. More likely their's something waiting for us up there, and if it's not an ambush, it's something worse and he just wants us to clear the road."

"No, I'm not, I swear!" Barton pleaded. "Please, if you're going to help me, we need to hurry!"

Eve didn't know what to do. Sunny could be right, but her eyes kept flickering toward the young girl they'd failed to rescue from the geckos. Wasn't it just as likely there was another girl, high up on the ledge, also in grave peril? And if there was, and they did nothing, she would certainly die. And it would be her fault if she did nothing.

"It couldn't hurt to check," she said softly. "They're just geckos. If we go slowly –"

"Not a chance," Sunny said. "I'm not about to risk my hide over what is probably just a pack of lies."

"Then I'll go," Eve said decisively, standing up from the dirt and slinging her rifle over her shoulder. "I don't want anyone else ending up in their grave today, not if I can help it."

"You could be walking into a trap," Sunny warned for the last time. "I won't be there to back you up this time."

"I'll have to learn to fend for myself eventually," Eve said. "A small pack of geckos is as good a place as any to start."

Taking up her satchel filled with gecko hides, she approached Barton, and almost choked when the wind suddenly shifted. The smell emanating from him was putrid, and it took great pains for her not to cough and gag in revulsion.

"Which way did she go?"

"Up that way, just past the radio tower," Barton said. Eve put her hand over her eyes and located the tower, then turned for the last time back to Sunny.

"I shouldn't be that long," she said. "I'll see you back in town, all right?"

Sunny nodded, though her lips were turned down in disapproval. "I've got to carry this body back anyway. Just be careful. I don't need to be lugging back another body."

Eve's stomach churned unpleasantly at that thought, but she'd already said she would help. There was no turning back now. Utilizing the tactics Sunny had already taught her, she padded silently across the expanse of desert between her and the path leading up the cliff, keeping her eye on her goal while repeatedly scanning her surroundings. As she began to ascend, she crouched down behind a large boulder and brought up her rifle, ready to shoot at the first thing that moved.

The first of geckos she encountered composed of two adults and three hatchlings. In truth, she almost felt bad for putting them down, but even as small as they were, it was clear even from this distance that they could inflict a good deal of damage on their own. Deciding the adults should be her first target, she picked the biggest one as it lumbered up the rocky slope. After it few steps, it stopped and sniffed at the dry air, and Eve took a chance. Taking a deep breath, she squeezed off one round, and the bullet tore clean through the scaley head of the reptile. The others immediately raised their heads at the thunder of the gun-shot, and she quickly knocked of the other adult, her hands familiar with the weight and recoil of the varmint rifle. Clearly she'd had experience with a gun in her lost past, because her aim was dead center. The hatchlings, clearly not as seasoned at their adult counterparts, swung around in a frenzy, looking for the attacker. Eve killed them quickly, shooting each through the head, then paused as Sunny had taught her, listening closely to ascertain there were no more in the immediate vicinity.

When no patter of feet met her ears, she continued up the slope, repeating the process with each small cluster of geckos she game across, climbing higher and higher, reminding herself not to be too hasty just because it was growing dark. It was only as she killed the last one and took a good look around the top of the slope that she realized there was no one else there. No girl. Not even a body. Maybe the girl had escaped after all? Shrugging to herself, Eve pulled some rope out of her satchel and began dragging the geckos she'd killed into a pile. She'd never have time to skin them all before dark. She'd take them back to town with her where she could finish the job in relative safety. Perching her rifle against a rock, she knelt on the ground and began tying them together by their tails so she could sling them over her shoulder, thinking of the feast she would be able to cook up and hoping someone would buy the hides off her.

"I'm sorry I tricked you," came a low voice from behind her, startling Eve out of her reverie. She spun around so fast she landed on her bottom, and the man in rags stood looming over her just a few feet away. He no longer looked wide-eyed and desperate. His eyes were hard and cold, and he held in his hands a small pistol, which he kept aimed directly at her heart. Her cropped denim jacket would provide her no protection against a bullet at any range, and her rifle, perched against a small boulder a few feet away, was completely useless to her now. She couldn't help but feeling sick to her stomach at her own gullibility, and wished, too late, that she had listened to Sunny.

"What did you trick me for?" she asked meekly, trying to look small and nonthreatening, which she no doubt already was. "I don't have anything of value. If you want the hides, you can take them."

"Stupid girl, I didn't plan all this out just for some measly gecko hides," he said. His voice was oddly calm, completely without expression, as though they were talking over the best way to roast gecko meat. "I just needed you to clear out those geckos for me. Thanks for that. Now I can get to that stash up on the cliff. Well, after I've dealt with you."

As he finished his sentence, she distinctly heard him cocking the hammer on his pistol, and she cried out, "Wait!"

To her surprise, he stopped, and she seized his moment of hesitation. "Look, I don't know anything about a stash. You can just take what you want and go. No one needs to die here."

He seemed to think her words over for several seconds, but as his eyes darkened and began to scrutinize her closely, she felt anything but reassured.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered curtly, the aim of his pistol never wavering from her heart.

Eve's blood froze over. "I – what?"

"You heard me," he said evenly. "You said I could take what I want, and I will. In return, I just might spare your measly life."

"But – but why?" she asked.

Barton sneered down at her. "Don't take me for a fool. You know exactly why."

"I don't, really," Eve said, trying to convey her honesty. True enough the idea of being naked and vulnerable in front of this man made her ill, and the way he looked at her body told her he didn't intent anything good, but the knowledge of what he intended to do with her eluded her as much as the rest of her memory. Was he simply trying to humiliate her before he killed her? Or did he intend to do her some kind of injury?

"Either you really are a stupid girl, or I've hit a streak of luck and you're too innocent to know what I'm talking about," he said darkly. "Either way, take them off now, or I'll just finish you off. Makes no difference to me."

Swallowing hard, Eve brought herself up on her knees, but when she tried to stand, he stopped her. "That's far enough. Stay just like that."

With numb fingers, she rolled down the sleeves of her white shirt, then slipped off her denim jacket and laid it down carefully in the dirt. As she reached for the hem of her shirt, she could no longer bring herself to look up at him anymore; her heart began to pound almost painfully, and she lowered her eyes to the ground. Slowly, she eased of up over her head, then pulled her arms out of the sleeves and laid it on top of her jacket.

Eve couldn't move anymore after that, and stared at the ground, her cheeks colors in a shame she didn't fully understand. She could feel Barton's eyes sweeping over her, taking in her small, bare breasts and tiny waist.

"Now the rest," he urged, his voice suddenly gruff, and much deeper, but before she could reach for her belt, he said, "The gun. Take it out, slowly, and slide it towards me."

Eve did as he said, nowhere near confident enough in her abilities to try to pull as fast one on him. She slid it across the ground, and at his signal, continued to her belt. She fumbled with the buckle, then the buttons on her jeans; it took longer than it should have to undo all five of them, but when she had them undone, she slowly pushed the fabric down over her hips, taking her blue panties down with them. Feeling a horrible wave of nausea, she swayed on the spot, and allowed herself to fall back onto her bare bottom. Several sharp pebbles poked into her skin, but she was hardly aware of them; she was too focused on the simple act of breathing, which had become much more difficult. She could hear the harsh panting coming from her own mouth. She wanted to stop, to run, but she knew if she did, he would kill her. Blindly, she pushed her jeans further down her legs, and when they were caught on her boots, she spent what felt like several minutes trying to pull them off. At last, she wore nothing, not even her socks, and she stared directly down at the ground, praying she would simply vanish into thin air.

"Very good," Barton said, his voice rough with something Eve didn't want to identify. "Now, stand up. Slowly."

She did as her ordered, moving slowly, and hindered by the numbness that was spreading further along her body. Twice she nearly fell, and just barely caught herself. When she was on her feet, she could hear Barton walking closer to her, could hear the crunch of gravel under his boots, and she tried not to tremble when he finally stood over her, his foul odor now wafting over her in waves.

"Don't move an inch, or I will shoot you," he said, and then, without further warning, Eve felt the cold steel of the pistol caressing over her cheek. Her mouth went dry as her fear escalated into terror, and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to whimper as he trailed the pistol down her throat and over her small breasts. He moved them around with the barrel of the gun, pushing them from side to side and lifting each one higher on her chest.

"Small, but very pleasing," he said low. "You're still young, you'll grow some more. Perhaps if you're good enough, I'll take you with me and make you my girl. On account of me not having one to begin with."

The words made Eve want to be sick, but she held herself determinedly still, not even flinching when she felt the warm skin of his hand wrap around her waist, or slide up her ribs to take her right breast in his hand.

"Would you like that, little one?" he asked softly. "I'd take good care of you. No more worrying about bad men tricking you and holding you at gunpoint. And all you'd have to do is whatever I tell you."

Eve couldn't answer. She couldn't even speak. Instead some rough gurgling noise came out of her throat, which Barton must have taken for assent, because the next thing she felt was his mouth closing over one small, pink nipple and suckling hard on it. A sharp hiss escaped her lips as he assaulted her breast. She wanted to shove him away, but the cold steel of his gun was currently pressed against her stomach. She squeezed her eyes even tighter, trying to block out the feeling, but his mouth was tugging insistently at her tender flesh, making her stomach churn until she thought she might really be sick. Perhaps it would have been better to let him kill her... she wasn't even a whole person anymore... what did it matter, so long as he couldn't do this to her...

He switched his mouth over to her other breast, and it was then that Eve felt the gun sliding even lower against her stomach, until finally he thrust the barrel between her thighs. When she resisted, he added his other hand and forced her legs apart. Eve tried to hold herself steady, fearing what he might do if she fell, but her knees began to tremble when she felt his dirty fingers spreading the tiny fold between her thighs. She didn't know what he was doing, but she knew she wanted it to stop. He didn't stop, though. He touched everything he could, until finally she could feel one thick digit forcing its way up into her until she cried out in pain. To her surprise, his fingers slowed their progress, simply touching inside her until, inexplicably, she felt liquid heat rushing out of her to coat his fingers and her thighs.

"Mmm, perfect," he murmured, raising himself from her breasts. "I must have hit my lucky streak indeed, to find something that hasn't been fucked by every other bastard in the Mojave." He took a step back from her and raised the pistol again. "Lay down."

Shaking in earnest now, Eve did as he ordered, laying on her back in the dirt, and with any hesitation, Barton crouched down, forced her thighs apart, and knelt between them.

"Look at me," he ordered, and Eve forced herself, looking up into his face. His eyes were dark and seemed to glitter in the setting sun, and they bored right into her, making her heart stop in her chest. "What I'm going to do to you will hurt, and I will enjoy making it hurt... but the more I enjoy it, the more I will be inclined to let you live. And you want to live, don't you?"

Eve couldn't move, couldn't nod, but instead let out a whimper... though whether it was because she was afraid, or she wasn't sure she wanted to live through this, she wasn't sure.

"Good," he said. "Now just lay still and do what you're told."

And then he was fiddling with his pants. Eve couldn't watch any longer, and looked away, her hands suddenly moving out and away from her, as though there was something out there, anything that could help her. But she knew there wasn't. Her rifle was too far away, as was her pistol. His body was covering hers, and she felt something hard and blunt bump against the inside of her thigh. Then it was sliding between her folds, and trying to push into her the same way his fingers had. It must have been to big, because for several moments, it pushed against her opening without gaining so much as an inch. Now Eve knew what he meant by pain, and she wanted to scream, wanted to lash out at him before he could go any further... And then her seeking fingers found something just above her head. It was large and hard, smooth and round... a rock, twice the size of her fist. Without hesitating, she grabbed it, and without thinking of the repercussion, that he might stop, that he would shoot her, that she would die here with this vile man on top of her as he last memory, she brought the rock swinging down, driving it with as much force as she could into the back of Barton's head.

In the same instant that she heard the sickening impact, she felt his body go rigid with shock, and she repeated the motion, screaming in rage and defiance as she did so, all fear evaporating as she connected the rock to his skull again. His whole body bucked this time, and she shoved him off of her. He landed on his back, and she clambered up onto her knees, ready to face her attacker, but was brought up short when he didn't move. Edging closer, the saw the pool of blood forming around his head, seeping into the dirt, and when she looked into his eyes, saw that they were wide with shock, but completely blank and devoid of life.

Barton Thorne was dead. And she... she was alive. She had killed him. She had survived. And... and for the first time, Eve felt calm. She felt still. The longer she looked at him, the more at peace she felt. This man... he could not hurt her anymore. He was gone. And she... she had done this. _I_ – _I killed a man_. The words took several moments to sink in as she knelt there in the dirt, still naked, but completely calm. _I killed him_,_ and I_..._ I feel nothing_. She felt nothing. How could that be? Just seconds ago, the thought of death had terrified her... her own death... the girl who'd died at the water source... Barton's "girlfriend" who would have died at the claws of the geckos... it had made her submissive and meek. But she'd just delivering a killing blow to another... a man who lived and breathed just the same as she did... she felt nothing. Only calm...

Was that what she was? A killer? Was she as cold and ruthless as the man who had shot her? It was a disturbing thought, one that filled her with dread. What if she had always been a killer? It made sense; it explained why it was so easy to kill this man before her now, why the thought bothered her not at all. But what if... what if next time it wasn't someone trying to hurt her? What if it was Sunny? Or the kindly Doctor who had saved her life? Would it bother her then? What if it didn't? What if that was why the man she couldn't remember had killed her? To make sure she didn't come after him later? Just hours ago, beside her own grave, she'd been planning her revenge against him... Would she really do it? Would she really make the man vulnerable... as vulnerable as she had just been... and kill him? Out of revenge?

Shaking her head, Eve got to her feet and, shaking, began the process of pulling her clothes back on. She had no answers to these questions, and she wouldn't find them here, kneeling in the dirt next to Barton's corpse. She had to leave this place. Tomorrow... tomorrow she would set out towards Primm... she would find out who she was, she would find the man who attacked her... and then... then she would find out the truth. With any hope, she would find out she wasn't the ruthless killer she feared she was. Cause if that were the case, she couldn't help but feel that maybe it would have been better if she'd died in that grave.


End file.
